


get around town, spend your time on the run

by seventhstar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Burn Notice AU, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Past Relationship(s), Public Blow Jobs, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26592577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: “My name is Katsuki Yuuri. I used to be a spy, until…”When you’re burned, Yuuri thinks, you have nothing. No cash, no credit, no job history. You’re stuck in whatever city they decide to dump you in. You’re stuck living wherever you can find an unscrupulous landlord who’ll rent you a place without a lease or a background check.Even if that means living directly over a swinger’s club.Yuuri has slept in the desert during artillery fire. Yuuri has slept on a college campus during dubstep night. Yuuri has even slept through Minako snoring. But nothing could have prepared him for Viktor Nikiforov’s string of passive aggressive one night stands, all of which seem to end with him and his hapless victim rutting against Yuuri’s front door.+A Burn Notice AU.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 26
Kudos: 188





	get around town, spend your time on the run

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: the dubcon tag is for victor and yuuri having to have sex to keep their cover. they're on the same page about this in the moment, but it's not negotiated beforehand and yuuri is understandably unhappy about it afterward.
> 
> also, this is not an accurate depiction of BDSM, sex clubs, or crime. nor is it meant to be. i have taken artistic liberties as needed.

“My name is Katsuki Yuuri. I used to be a spy, until…”

* * *

_When you’re burned,_ Yuuri thinks, _you have nothing. No cash, no credit, no job history. You’re stuck in whatever city they decide to dump you in. You’re stuck living wherever you can find an unscrupulous landlord who’ll rent you a place without a lease or a background check._

_Even if that means living directly over a swinger’s club._

Yuuri has slept in the desert during artillery fire. Yuuri has slept on a college campus during dubstep night. Yuuri has even slept through Minako snoring. But nothing could have prepared him for Viktor Nikiforov’s string of passive aggressive one night stands, all of which seem to end with him and his hapless victim rutting against Yuuri’s front door.

Seven times. Viktor has done this seven times—seven petty, awful, sexy times. Yuuri’s not even sure what Viktor’s endgame is. Either he’s being punished because Viktor is still nursing a grudge about being dumped via Yuuri fleeing the country, or this is Viktor’s way of seducing him. Or both.

Whatever it is, it has to stop. Yuuri’s not short on self control, but even a saint’s patience would be tested by the sound of Viktor begging to be fucked not fifteen feet from Yuuri’s bed.

“Tell me you found something.”

Phichit sighs. Chris sighs even louder. They probably practiced this instead of doing any work; Yuuri counts five empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter.

He’s been sitting outside a noodle shop for six hours, waiting for his old handler to pass by, and so far has had no luck. Eventually, Celestino will have to come by the only place in Hasetsu where decent Italian food is sold. But that still leaves Yuuri unsuccessful, tired, sweaty, out of cold beer, and trapped in a loft apartment situated over an illegal sex club.

An illegal sex club his so-called friends refuse to help him put out of business.

“You know, Yuuri, just because you aren’t getting laid doesn’t mean you have to be bitter,” Chris says. He waggles his eyebrows. “It’s really a nice club. Very comfortable.”

“No,” Yuuri says. He cannot imagine being comfortable anywhere where people are having sex, in pubic, repeatedly. The whole place is probably like a public locker room, but with more semen. It probably smells like sweaty ass. It’s probably profoundly unsexy, like used toilet paper, or puppies, or Yuuri when he’s not pretending to be someone else.

“Just fuck him already,” Phichit says.

Yuuri hates it when he does that. _Just let me repress in peace._

“I told you. He’s tactical support.”

“Is ‘tactical support’ Japanese for ‘guy I wanna bang’?”

“Phichit!”

“What?”

“Are you going to help me get rid of the club?”

“Who’s getting rid of the club?” Viktor asks. Yuuri turns; he didn’t even hear Viktor come in. “And why?”

Viktor sidles up behind him; his fingers brush across the back of Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri doesn’t shiver, but it’s a near thing. He waits for Viktor to move away, but he doesn’t. His breath is hot against Yuuri’s ear.

“Yuuri,” he says.

“Viktor.”

“I brought you breakfast.”

“It’s two pm.”

“There are hash browns.”

Yuuri glares at the floor. Viktor knows he’s weak for fried potatoes. He accepts the bag Viktor is proffering and opens it. The hash browns smell amazing, and they’re still warm.

“I thought Yu-topia didn’t serve breakfast after eleven,” Chris says.

“Oh, Hiroko made an exception for me.”

“Anyways,” Yuuri says. He shoves a hash brown in his mouth — it’s fluffy inside, crispy outside, dusted with salt — and groans with pleasure. He is supposed to be on a diet. First Viktor ruined sex and now he’s ruining food, too. It’s bad enough that he’s on better terms with Yuuri’s parents than Yuuri is. “There’s no way this club isn’t committing a crime.”

“…about that,” Chris says. He sounds entirely innocent.

Yuuri is suspicious as hell. “What?”

“If you really want to investigate the club, I have an in,” he says. “But you have to promise you’ll take the job.”

“Is this about your bootleg sex toys?”

“They’re not my bootlegs. And it’s a legitimate public health issue.”

“It’ll get me into the club?” Yuuri resists the urge to roll his eyes. Chris is the least legitimate person he knows.

“It’ll let you find out everything you could possibly want to know.”

Yuuri squints at Chris, who grins. Phichit grins. Yuuri can’t see Viktor, but he’s probably smiling, too.

Yuuri is so fucked.

“Fine.”

* * *

“…you own the club downstairs.”

“That’s right.”

“And you want me to help you keep the place open.”

“Look, I’m trying to create a safe space for people to explore their desires without being shamed. I started this place after I moved here with my husband and he then ran off in the middle of the night with all the money. It’s all I have. Hideki and his crew want to turn this place into one of their brothels. Which would you rather live above?”

Yuuri stares at her. If he lived above a brothel, Viktor couldn’t get laid there. On the other hand, Hideki is a human trafficking piece of shit. If Yuuri was a better person, this would be no choice at all.

As it is, he can’t stop himself from regretting having moral standards, just for a moment.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “On one condition.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you had me banned,” Viktor says. He’s sitting in Yuuri’s favorite chair, bare feet propped up on the coffee table, ankles crossed, expression deeply irritated. He’s wearing jeans and a plain tshirt, and glittery highlighter. The highlighter is tacky.

Yuuri keeps looking at him, torn: one hand, this is hilarious, and on the other hand, Viktor has a point, Yuuri is being petty as hell. Whatever. Viktor should have expected this. He knows how much Yuuri loves sleep.

“You deserve it.”

“You realize I can get laid elsewhere?”

“I don’t care about you getting laid, I want to sleep for eight hours uninterrupted.”

“You once slept through a volcano erupting.”

“The volcano was in another state and I was drugged.” Yuuri sighs. “Never mind. The job.”

“Mm.” Viktor picks up one of the files sitting on the desk. Phichit and Chris came by earlier with the results of their recon, and now they’re off dealing with one of Phichit’s internet people’s minor blackmail problem. They promised to be back in the evening to get the details ironed out.

Which leaves Yuuri with Viktor to figure out the approach. Hideki and his goons generally come by once a week to do their ‘give us your club or we’ll ruin your business’ song and dance, but Hideki himself comes by even more often to enjoy the club’s services. According to Shanice, he’s driving off customers with his bad manners and the way he treats his subs.

“Some of these subs are are probably bodyguards in disguise,” Viktor muses. “He never comes without one?”

“Shanice says he always has a naked woman on a leash with him. And he rents the back room for business meetings, and he provides them with subs, and sometimes they mysteriously wash up on the beach with stab wounds in the groin.”

“A two man job, then. You need someone to play sub for you.”

“I guess.”

“Unless you want to be stabbed in the dick.”

“You in?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor snorts.

“Okay, I’ll just ask Chri—”

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Viktor leans back in his chair, and taps his lip with his index finger, the way he does when he’s thinking. “Just like old times,” he murmurs, smiling to himself, and Yuuri shivers. _That’s the whole problem,_ he thinks, but he nods.

Taking his ex-boyfriend, who used to actually let Yuuri sexually dominate him, on this mission is a terrible, terrible idea. Either Phichit or Chris would be safer options. Yuuri shouldn’t.

Viktor traces a path across the floor plan of the club, and says, “Tonight?”

“We can plant the bug, yeah. Phichit and Chris can put together my cover.”

“And mine?”

“If anyone asks you anything, play dumb.”

“Tch.” Viktor rolls his eyes, but Yuuri ignores him. Viktor is exceptional at playing dumb. Despite being almost six feet and made mostly of muscle, he always manages to give the impression that he’s soft, harmless, and stupid. (He tried to kill Yuuri the night they met. With his bare hands.)

“I’ll meet you here at nine,” Yuuri says. He gets up. “Wait, are you just doing this to get unbanned from the club?”

“You’ve caught me,” Viktor says, laughing, and he’s still chuckling behind his hand as Yuuri slips out of the apartment, the door closing behind him.

Yuuri picks up his dry cleaning so he’ll have clothes for the club tonight, buys some ugly sunglasses as part of his disguise because he doesn’t want his good Armani ones associated with this shitty cover, and scouts out the workplace of a potential government contact for his burn notice for three hours. Then, before he can think better of it, he stops at a pet store and buys a plain black collar and a leash.

* * *

The inside of Shanice’s club, Eros, is slightly less awful than Yuuri thought it would be.

It’s relatively clean, but there’s lube everywhere. It doesn’t smell like sweat and sex, but there is a powerful lemon scent that gives Yuuri a headache. He’s going to have to request his dry cleaner take special care with this suit. Lube is a bitch to get off Armani, as Yuuri has learned the hard way.

Yuuri is wearing grey, creases sharp, cufflinks gleaming, every detail on point to make him look rich and and sleazy, down to the greased and parted hair and gaudy the pinky ring. Viktor, on the other hand, is following behind him wearing his tiniest pair of black underwear, the collar and leash, and nothing else. He should blend in this crowd, but instead he stands out, like the moon among stars. Or maybe that’s just Yuuri’s bias.

With Viktor’s leash in his hand, Yuuri looks the part perfectly. He’s Takeshi Okukawa, human trafficking scum, and he’s here to make a deal.

“I have an appointment with Hideki,” Yuuri tells the beefy bouncer standing outside Hideki’s private lounge. He can hear giggling from inside. “Now.”

“Sorry, bud. Hideki doesn’t see anyone on Friday night.”

“He’ll see me.”

“Listen,” the bouncer pulls back his jacket to reveal his gun, “fuck off before I—”

Yuuri knees him in the balls, then smashes the guy’s head into his knee while he’s doubled over. Useless Security Guy staggers backwards, moaning, and Yuuri ducks around him through the door. It’s not even locked. Amateurs.

“Who the fuck are you?” Hideki is sitting on a sofa, a scantily dressed woman on either side of him, a naked man straddling his lap. There’s lipstick on his collar. Yuuri resists the urge to roll his eyes. “How’d you get in?”

“I’m the guy who is gonna make you filthy rich,” Yuuri says. He takes a seat in the chair facing Hideki and crosses his legs. Viktor kneels down beside him, between Yuuri and the door. “You should update your security, by the way, that security guard is not cutting it.”

“What the—”

“Heard you’re the guy here who does the brothels, yeah?”

“That’s right.” Hideki draws his gun. He points it directly at Yuuri’s face, sideways. So he’s a wannabe; good to know, Yuuri thinks. “Who’s asking.”

“Okukawa. Takeshi Okukawa. I’m a…call me a supplier, of the kind of product your line of work depends on.”

“I already got a supplier for the coke.”

“What I mean is flesh.” Yuuri picks up one of the glasses on the table between them and Hideki’s bottle of champagne. He pours himself a glass and sips. “2012, a midrange bottle. Good, but not great. Bored housewives drink this brand of champagne, Hideki.” He swirls the liquid around at eye level. “Now, you bring in some of my boys and girls, let them do their magic, suddenly everyone in town is lining up at your place. Suddenly, you’re drinking out of the bottles Jeff Bezos drinks from.”

Yuuri’s always been of the firm belief that alcohol makes people do stupid things. (See: himself, the night he and Viktor met.) Hideki doesn’t disappoint. He leans forward, greedy eyes widening, and says, “Go on.”

He and Yuuri have the same hairstyle; they’re both wearing pinky rings. Yuuri knows how to get scumbags to do what he wants. It’s a shame the same skill doesn’t apply to people he likes.

He spins nonsense for Hideki for a while, describing a training program for whores that makes him nauseous. He makes up some numbers to keep him interested. He offers to show Hideki some ‘samples’, which is how Yuuri plans to lure him out to get him arrested.

“So hey, think about it,” Yuuri finished. He flicks a business card onto the table. “Call me when you’re ready to make money.” He starts to get up.

“Hold it.” Hideki gestures lazily with the gun. Yuuri stops, doing his best to look bored. “He one of yours?” He points at Viktor.

Viktor blinks up at Yuuri, wide-eyed. Yuuri takes the hint.

“Of course.”

“Let me try him out.”

“Sorry, I don’t share.”

“See, I figure a cop could come in here and say whatever he wanted,” Hideki says softly. “I figure anyone can put on a collar and sit on the floor for a bit. How about you prove to me he’s not just for show?”

Yuuri should have planned for this.

But he hasn’t.

There is a sickening moment of silence in which Yuuri’s mouth starts to say ‘no’, and he’s horribly aware that he should have planned for this and he’s just gotten them killed.

“Takeeeeshi,” Viktor whines. He lays his head against Yuuri’s thigh. “Am I not good enough for you any more?”

Yuuri sighs and uncrosses his legs. “He’ll get spoiled,” he says to Hideki. He notes that the woman on her right has her hand on her ankle and she’s wearing boots; she’s probably the one who does the groin stabbing. He bets that if he refused, Hideki would have insisted Yuuri let her blow him. And then he would be down one femoral artery and also his life.

Viktor slides between Yuuri’s open thighs. He undoes Yuuri’s slacks deftly—if the last few nights have been any indication getting guys out of their pants is one of Viktor’s skills—and leans forward. Yuuri feels, acutely, Viktor’s breath against his cock.

He is painfully aware of the fact that this is the most pressure he’s ever been under to perform. And he’s also aware of the fact that the way Viktor blinks up at him, long and slow, isn’t all an act. Convincing Yuuri into having sex in dangerous places was one of Viktor’s hobbies back in the day. That’s the thing Yuuri makes himself focus on: not Hideki’s weapon still trained on them, not the woman with the concealed knife, not the way his and Viktor’s lives are hanging in the balance.

Just the touch of Viktor’s mouth, and knowing that Viktor likes it.

Mercifully, it doesn’t take long.

“Damn,” Hideki says. “You weren’t kidding.”

Yuuri zips up while Viktor wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Like I said. Call me when you’re ready to move into the big leagues.”

He tugs on Viktor’s leash; Viktor follows.

* * *

“Well,” Viktor says, “that was a success.”

Yuuri doesn’t answer.

Yuuri can’t answer. Every ounce of his concentration is hyperfocused on the op. On starting the car, and pulling out of the lot. On driving to their hotel. On moving. On not thinking.

If he starts thinking, he’ll lose it. And he knows it can’t be avoided, the fear, the crushing anxiety waiting in the wings. All he can do is compartmentalize it long enough to get out. He can’t stay in Takeshi Okukawa’s skin, no matter how he tries. The covers end. The confidence fades. All that’s left is—

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri realizes he’s hanging onto the wheel so hard his hands ache. They’re parked in the hotel’s garage; Viktor is sitting beside him, his hand raised, like he was about to touch Yuuri and isn’t sure if he’s allowed to. Yuuri can’t help him there. Yuuri hardly knows himself.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Viktor says. “Come on.”

“Right.”

Viktor gets out of the car. Yuuri sits there, perfectly still, while he gets dressed and retrieves Yuuri’s briefcase from the backseat. He leads Yuuri to the elevator, and deposits him in a seat in the lobby while he checks in. Somehow, Yuuri manages to maintain the facade of being bored and sleazy, even pawing at Viktor in the elevator while another guest gives them a scandalized look, until they reach the room.

Yuuri collapses into a chair, hands pressed over his eyes—the light is too bright, the drone of the air conditioner too loud—he’s shaking. _I should have thought of that,_ he thinks. _I should have planned for that, I should have planned for it, Viktor could have died, I could have died, I made a mistake I should have planned better I should have planned I should have planned I should have—_

Eventually it passes.

There’s a glass of water in his hand, and one of his pills. Yuuri stares at it, pride and fear warring in his gut before he downs them both. Viktor is sitting in the chair next to his; he looks impeccable, somehow, with unwrinkled clothing and artfully tousled hair. A gun is on the table between them, the hotel door is locked. He must have secured their perimeter. The sight of him gives Yuuri a little strength.

“You haven’t had one like that in a while.”

“Years.” Yuuri reaches for the gun. He starts to disassemble it. The muscle memory is stronger than the fear. “Guess I was due.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Yuuri bites his tongue. “I should have—”

“If you’d done anything but play along we’d both have been killed.” Viktor scowls at him. He has a glass in hand; Yuuri knows him well enough to know it’s just water. “I’m not one of your delicate little assets, Yuuri. I don’t need my hand held.”

“I know.”

“Tell me what we’re doing next.”

“What?”

Viktor passes him the glass. Yuuri drinks. It’s not water. It’s vodka.

He looks at Viktor again. Just above the neck of his shirt, the collar is still visible. There’s still makeup on Viktor’s face, but the shine of oil and sweat have left it less than pristine. His hair looks less artful and more mussed. He used to have long hair, Yuuri remembers; he wonders if Viktor cut it because of him. (He knows Viktor cut it because of him. There’s a brand of cologne Yuuri used to wear in St. Petersburg. He can’t even smell it without feeling sick anymore.)

“Tell me the plan,” Viktor repeats. “We’re in with Hideki. What’s next?”

“I…” Yuuri recognizes this tactic. This is how Viktor used to handle him, back then. _I need to focus,_ Yuuri used to say. _I can’t get caught up._ He stares at the sweat on Viktor’s forehead and realizes, dumbly, that he no longer has any idea how to handle Viktor at all. “Hey, shouldn’t you take that off?”

He reaches for Viktor’s throat, and Viktor slaps his hands away.

“What?”

“It’s fine.” Viktor snatches his glass back. He doesn’t sip this time; he gulps. “I’m fine.”

“We figure out Hideki’s operation and figure out how to expose him,” Yuuri says. “And then we call the actual police, that should get him out of Hasetsu. He won’t call tomorrow, we have time to put it together.”

“He won’t call tomorrow?”

“He needs to feel like he’s in control. He’ll make us wait.”

Viktor nods. He sits back in his chair, crosses his legs, a parody of calm that would fool a stranger but is transparent as glass to Yuuri. Yuuri takes the vodka out of his hand. He goes over to the hotel fridge, retrieves the bottle of Perrier, and pours Viktor a glass.

“Here.”

Yuuri drags the chair around before he sits, so that he’s between Viktor and the door. Viktor finishes the water, tosses the glass carelessly on the table; he reaches up to touch the collar still buckled around his neck.

“I can take it off.”

“I can do it,” Viktor says. He undoes the collar and lets it fall to the floor. There’s a red line where the edge cut into his skin. Yuuri winces, and wonders if the mark will fade before they have to meet with Hideki again. It’ll be a problem if it doesn’t. Any discomfort Viktor shows will give them away.

Has he always been this fucked up, Yuuri wonders, or has it been a slow decline from the fresh-faced, idealistic rookie who joined the military right out of high school?

“Come lie down,” Yuuri says, finally, when the knot of guilt is no longer heavy in his throat. He holds out a hand. Viktor takes it.

They lay there in bed together, on top of the covers, Yuuri’s gun on the nightstand within reach. Viktor’s head rests on his chest, his pale hair tickling Yuuri’s jaw. Yuuri starts to play with it; it takes him too long to realize he shouldn’t. It’s been years, but the habits of affection remain.

“It’s not easy for me anymore,” Viktor says, finally. “I’m not like you. I can’t…detach.”

“I’ll take Chris or Phichit next time.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“It’ll be better that way.”

“Why?” Viktor asks. Yuuri feels his breath against his shirt. “We always worked together so well before.”

“This isn’t St. Petersburg. We can’t be like that anymore.” Yuuri says. It’s close enough to the truth that he can say it to Viktor with a steady voice. They won’t be like that anymore, no matter how much Yuuri wants them to be. It’d be cruel to give Viktor even a sliver of hope.

“We could,” Viktor says. “If you wanted us to be.”

Yuuri shakes his head. He’s a fucking liar. He’s never been any good at being detached.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a lot more of this but it's all piecemeal. it's a combination of the victor/yuuri backstory + an adaptation of burn notice ep 4x17 "out of the fire", one of my favorite eps. minako would be larry sizemore. 
> 
> i love burn notice and am always happy to talk about it so feel free to hmu on twitter @starofseventh or tumblr @pencilwalla.


End file.
